The Uruk hai
by Green-eyed Hobbit
Summary: Oneshot: Merry and Pippin's capture from the Uruk hai from Merry's perspective. Lots of angst and affliction. Last fight and death of Boromir included. No Slash, sex or profanity!


DISCLAIMER: I do not own LotR nor did I invent any of the characters. Professor Tolkien did it and I hope he can forgive me that I write about his lovely individuals.

A/N: There is some additional material from the books included in this story, they can be recognized by them being written in _italics. _I could not help including a few sentences that were said, it seemed too important to me to leave them out.

In fact this is my very first fanfiction in my life and I really would appreciate a few comments on it.

**The Uruk-hai**

"Frodo? Frodo!"

Merry and Pippin had been running into the woods crying out their cousin's name. Boromir himself had told them that it might be an hour since he saw Frodo the last time. And his strange behaviour had also told them that there was something that he did not mention. They were worried for Frodo, for they knew he was alone and carried not only the burden of The One Ring but also the burden of choice of their further way.

As they ran deeper and deeper into the very core of the forest searching and frantically screaming Frodo's name they were soon aware of another presence out in the forest: Orcs! They heard many growls and heavy foot tramps, and they came nearer into their direction. Impending death was upon them and they realized how folly it was running witless into the wild without anyone of the fellowship knowing their way.

They turned, trying stealthily to fly from their foes that obviously were not aware of them yet, but not many paces had they run until they knew they were surrounded by them. No comparing horror they had yet to face before, for they knew they were on their own and could not win a fight with so many Orcs around them. But still they drew their little swords of Westernesse with shivering hands, and as the enemy were drawing nearer, they desperately tried to cut everything that snatched at them, for, to their scary surprise, the Orcs did not fight them back with their swords but tried to get a hold of them.  
Merry's angst-ridden mind swam and he did not thought while he cut several of the hands and arms that tried to get a grip of him and Pippin, but soon they were overcome, seized and held two feet over the ground.

A tall Orc came in front of him and took the swords of Westernesse from him and Pippin; then, with a killing glance at him snarled sharply, and Merry was sure that this was his end and that he was going to be stabbed at last. He found himself wondering in an endless seeming moment how it would feel to die in such a way and wished it was short and painless; even more he wished it for he knew his younger cousin would not be spared of the same death. But the Orc suddenly threw away the swords and grimaced almost as if the touch of them had hurt him. Then he waved to the horde, signalizing to them to run into the direction of what Merry thought might be the west. Each hobbit was tucked under the stout arms of tall Orcs who also had begun to run, and they felt swirled around in terror. The fear of what was to come almost overwhelmed the shrieking hobbits while they desperately attempted to draw away from the grips of the strong Orc-claws around their waists and in the turbulence Merry could get a glimpse of Pippin who bit into the hairy arm holding him, but it's owner took no heed.

Only a short time after being caught the group stopped and Merry could hear metal clangour and guessed it was a swordfight. He hoped the rest of the fellowship had found them and could get them free; he struggled to look what was going on where the sound came from. Suddenly just in front of him appeared Boromir and with a cry leaped forward and beheaded the Orc that held him tight. The headless body fell sideward on the ground where Merry finally managed to break free from the unmoving arm. He got to his feet and when he tried to stand next to Boromir who just begun to fight another Orc, stumbled over the head of another. Almost blinded from the swarthy blood from his dead captor, the terror that chilled to his bone amidst the fight, the stench that was all around him he whirled around to look for Pippin. Just then he saw him being dropped by the creature that had held him, for it had to fight Boromir now. Merry rushed directly to Pippin to help him up and just then they heard Boromir blow the horn of Gondor, and they both saw several of the Orcs run away.

They saw none other of the fellowship and hoped they were not dead, hoped that Frodo and Sam and the others had escaped.  
Their short moment of worry was being cut off by Boromir, who suddenly appeared behind them and pushed them forward.

"Run, little ones! Run!" he screamed.

And that they did. They ran with all their speed and knew their lives depended on it. But not long after they were forced to a halt. That was it: Dozens over dozens of Orcs were in their way. Boromir blew into his horn anew and again, but though a few of the Orcs had retreated, the majority of the horde still drew nearer and even more seemed to come to join them. To flee into the other direction was useless; Orcs were all around them.

"Gondor!" Boromir cried and the hobbits saw him brandishing his glittering sword with tremendous swiftness and finesse and slew a dozen of their foes within a few moments.  
Being weaponless after being subducted of their swords the hobbits had not much choice of helping their friend other than picking up stones from the ground and throwing them at their foes.  
Hobbits were always known to aim quite good with stones and they could knock out several of the approaching Orcs, but soon after they heard an arrow rush by. Boromir managed to smack it aside with his sword before it could hit him. Another flew by, then another followed and short after Merry heard many whistling arrows piercing the air.

Not one of the arrows were aimed at the hobbits, they all passed them by to Boromir's position. First he seemed to be able to manage the rain of arrows, but not before long he was overcome. Horrified the hobbits heard a short cry and a following uneasy gasp, and as they looked at Boromir, to their very terror, saw an arrow stuck in his chest. The world grew still just as time stopped. Their bloods froze. Petrifaction took a hold of them.  
The man sank down and leaned to a tree with his back, then with disbelieving eyes he tried to unplug the arrow out of him. His horn lay next to him but now, like a broken heart, it was cloven in two.

Merry was stunned for a moment at this sight, never had he seen such a thing. He had been witnessing Gandalf falling into the abyss while defending them in Moria, but he did not see him dieing, but now Boromir! And he died in such a horrible way! Merry's whole world resolved into fear and disbelief; he felt his heart being sucked into an icy undertow of nothingness. This could not be happening!

But the gondorian man was not dead yet, he would not give in so easily, obviously focusing all his remaining strength to stand up and to stay on his feet. He gave a cry and he fought the evil beasts once more, the arrow still plugged in his mighty chest.  
Then another arrow hit him and forced him to his knees, his stifled cry knifed the hobbits ears. They recoiled in anguish and horror and scowled at the men's pierced body in pure gloom until their knees slumped.

Boromir still kneed and had grown stiff at the last blow; he merely stared at the two arrows that were in his breast. His mission had failed - _he_ had failed. For Gondor's sake he wanted to fulfil his task - wanted The One Ring to be brought to Minas Tirith to defend it from the shadows. That wish had destroyed everything - delusion had made him try to take The Ring from Frodo and had even wished death for him and the halflings. Now he wished so much to save at least these two from death. But he could not even save his own self now. All was lost. He should have stayed true to the honour of the quest. He should have stayed true to his own honour. Now darkness would shade the white city.

A third arrow joined the others in a moment of frightening stillness and hit Boromir in the very middle of his chest. The pain of his wounds waned. In honest faithfulness he finally realized that this doom was appointed to him, that he had been judged about; a little smile appeared on his visage. He paid for his folly at last. He hung his head in humility.

At the last strike Merry had run forward. He stood close in front of Boromir now and rested his hand on his shoulder, as if to remind him that he was not alone. Boromir looked up and at him.  
Death was about to prevail over their fellow and all Merry could do was to stare with tear-filling eyes at his friend. And Boromir looked back into the halfling's eyes for a moment. He seemed to have accepted his fate, for the endless length of a moment they exchanged gazes of farewell, then he grimaced and whispered: "You must not linger here, Meriadoc. Run!"

Merry blinked at this and his lips started to jitter. His whole being resisted this suggestion. To leave now would mean to abandon his friend in the hour of death. He could not do that and he would not! The last thing he would remember of Boromir was the desperation in his eyes.

Then a cold cry of dismay behind him forced Merry to turn quickly to get a sight of his cousin and his heart almost froze a second time at what his eyes saw: Pippin lay motionless on the ground, glazing, only a few paces away; a big Orc stooped over his limp form.  
Still he had a big stone in his hand and he threw it with all he got into the Orc's face and it fell backward.  
Just then he felt a rough clutch on his left shoulder, he turned in fright and saw a big Orc with a sword in his claws but it was reversed, and as the hilt came crashing down upon him there was naught he knew for a long time.

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A piercing agony in his head was the first feeling he could remember, then a burning sensation throbbed afterwards like aftershocks following the obliterative earthquake. He almost got distracted with pain; he cried out and struggled wildly. Vaguely he was aware of a tall form bending over him and it had its calloused hand on his brow, and it rubbed something on his temple, which seemed to be the center of the pain; a tang was crawling into his nose. Instinctively he tried to push away the hand that was hurting him. In the nebulous world were he was there was naught to conceive what was going on, let alone to feel afraid of his predicament.

When he heard laughter in mockery and a few grunts, he slowly became aware they were Orcs and that they were all around him, and when he writhed he had noticed that his hands were bound tightly, his skin below was rubbed sore and they were aching badly. All his body was bruised and hurting but most of all his head, which was feeling like about to disrupt; his bound hands fell weakly onto his lap as he closed his eyes once more, feeling bad dreams sweep over him. Then he felt himself shaken crudely and he was being forced a flask into his mouth and a burning fluid with a loathsome taste of iron ran down his throat.

The aching in his head and limbs dwindled and with them the veiled sight left his eyes and he saw that it was night already. He was sitting all strung-up with bound hands, legs and ankles in an Orc-camp, an Orc stooping over him, Orcs were all about and he was their prisoner! This was a nightmare beyond words; a nameless dread froze his bones and he began to shake while he wondered where he was or what had happened to his friends.  
What had happened to Boromir? And Pippin- he had appeared so lifeless-was he? And what about the rest of the fellowship?

His worries were aborted by the tall figure bending over him who came to face him nearby until he could smell his foul breath, and with a red-eyed glare jabbing his fearful wide open eyes.  
"You will run with us, and you will be quite. Disobeying will not do you any good!" He hissed and cut of his leg bonds, then taking him by his hair roughly seized him to his legs and Io! He could stand.

Standing there Merry could finally see Pippin standing just a few steps away, where his sight had been cut off before by the stooping Orc. Pippin lived! They were both captured but at least they were not killed yet. His cousin looked at him worried with a wrinkled brow. Poor Pippin! Not even came out of age and now held prisoner by vicious foes that most likely were going to torture them before slaying them in the savagest way they could imagine.

"Hullo, Pippin!" Merry said, trying to soothe his friend with the light way of speaking as it is hobbits wont.  
_ "So, you've come on this little expedition, too? Where do we get bed and breakfast?" _  
His jesting obviously took effect, for Pippin's lips formed a little smile, and for a brief hobbit-moment they were not Orc-captives being delivered to torment and death but gleeful hobbits of The Shire being on an adventure of their own.

But the growl of the tall Orc disturbed their short peaceful moment. "Now then!" said he.  
_ "None of that! Hold your tongues. No talk to one another. Any trouble will be reported at the other end, and He'll know how to pay you." _

Merry now saw that they were at the edge of a narrow ravine and just then they were being pressed by the Orcs to descend it with them. Between the two hobbits were a dozen Orcs at least, beneath, at the end of the ravine there followed a meadow-like plain, and the spirits of the hobbits rose.

When a dispute broke out amongst the Orc-crew, Merry realized for the first time that there were different kinds of Orcs, large and smaller ones. The smaller ones wanted to avoid marching in the sunlight, they seemed to be afraid of it somehow whilst the large ones were mocking them about it, the big Orc that had smeared his wound on his brow was one of them, and obviously it was him who was the leader of the whole troop.

"Run, curse you!" He sneered. "Run while night lasts!"

"Curse that Uglúk!" Merry's hobbit-ears heard one of the smaller Orcs in front of him say hoarsely to another of his stature. "Curse him and all his Isengard-rats. I, Grishnákh, I'll teach them, just as the great Eye will teach the filthy White Hand of that treachorous wizard."

'Isengard?!' Merry remembered Gandalf telling about those Isengard-Orcs of Saruman when they were in Rivendell, Uruk-hai he had called them. Those big Orcs must be the very Uruk-hai.  
There was something in Grishnákh's disgruntled voice and the flicker in his eyes that convinced him of his determination, that this talk was not mere jest, and he couldn't help to quiver for just a moment.

And they began to run, an unbelievable furious rate, and the run soon merged into a swarming clutter of hate and cursing. It was a sore trial for the hobbits to keep up with the tremendous spurt the Orcs demanded, though the Orc-potion had an outlandish virtue of reviving them, but its fieriness in their stomach was not peaceful.  
_ The land soon became misty, pale-glimmering in the last rays of the sickle moon. The dark shapes of the Orcs in front grew dim, and then were swallowed up. _  
Merry had lost sight of Pippin a while ago and guessed that he must be at the end of this horde, but ventured no look, for the unfriendly staring eyes of the surrounding Orcs were upon him already. He probably could not have seen him in this veiled air anyway.

Soon the ground became moist and yielded their strides, and it became even harder to keep up. All of a sudden a riot broke out behind Merry and then he heard Uglúk yell for a halt. As the Orc-band jerked to a stop Merry turned around to look for Pippin, but all he saw were vague forms shaded off into the hazy vicinity. Then he heard a whip cracking but still could not make out anything familiar. He heard Uglúk's snarling voice, but the words were damped, as if the haze would not allow them to escape their soggy embrace, but he thought he heard an angry hiss.

Then the hobbits were forced to run once more. The Orcs' pitiless whips left them no oppurtunity to repose. Both of them could not recall much of the later part of the night, it was a hopeless voyage for the two and it was most likely that their memory tried to protect them by falling into oblivion.

For quite a long time now Merry had been on his feet running, but he felt his legs weaken. Also his head was throbbing from inside again and he guessed that the Orc-draught that had diminished the ache was losing its virtue slowly. Still he dully fought to run on his own, his feet were the only thing he could control at this point, all dignity their foes denied them, dragging them like dead obects when they fell, denying their identities: The hobbits were completely at their mercy.

'What is their hideous purpose? Why didn't they kill us already?' Merry wondered over and over again.

His strength betrayed him finally and his will surrendered to the merciless faintness of his body, and he fell onto the ground. There was nothing in him left that could make him stand up again, but there was no need to try. An Uruk seized him roughly and put its head between his tied hands, grabbed his arms and dragged them down. He was a lifeless packed bundle on the back of a grim creature which tore him savagely while sprinting through the plains.  
A cold fatigue defeated him at last, he closed his eyes and capitulated to the inevitable; darkness took a hold of him at the end.

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When he opened his eyes again he was still in the same situation as before, arms immovable around an Orc-neck. The night had passed by without leaving the peace it once had done. He felt incredibly worn out and in this awkward position being swirled and slung around he began to feel quite sick. For what was more his head still troubled him terribly and left him quite lightheaded. He felt a cold sweat run down his back.  
Then an Uruk came and looked into his misty eyes "Not to this one, it's awake" He said with a vicious chuckle and turned to Pippin who was dangling unaware on the back of an Orc walking nearby. He grasped him rudely by the pale face and looked at his closed eyes, shaking his unresponsive head as if to make sure this one was not feigning.

"This smaller one is quite frail. Might need another draught." He said, turning, as if to speak to someone behind Merry.

Someone he could not see cast the Uruk a metal flask, he opened it and poured a little of the content into Pippin's mouth, but he stayed unknowingly, not stirring.

"Alright, before they die out of nothing we make a brief halt. Our orders are clear. They have to be alive when we get to Isengard." The voice behind Merry yelled. It was Uglúk.  
"Put them down and give them food!"

So the hobbits were dumped onto the ground, seperated by a few feet only. Pippin had slumped on his front side, his head buried into the grass and soon Merry watched him finally stir slightly and he sighed in relief. But his younger cousin seemed so have despaired completely, he did not even look up and just quaked into himself, obviously weeping, lost within without hope. Merry wished so much he could put his arm around his friend to comfort him.

To him Pippin all his life had been the brother he always wanted to have, for he had no siblings and had been so grateful when chance finally brought to him this little first cousin. And he had always felt responsible for him, but in all brotherly love he felt, there was naught he could do at the moment to console him. But finally Pippin looked up, then into his eyes and this brightened up their fortitude for a moment.

Merry was glad that he had not been made to drink that horrible Orc-draught, but for all that he felt thirst smite him and the noise of a rapid stream nearby seemed to gloat over his woe. Shortly after Merry began to feel quite nauseous and even dizzier, and soon with his swimming head he could make out that some food was flung next to him. He had not eaten since a day now and though he was not hungry, in his bad state he knew he must have felt the gnawing hunger and so he looked where the food was, and a stomach-churning sight cleft his wits, it was dried flesh which smelled of blood and in some way foulness was about it. As the iron malodour of it crept up his nose he recognized it finally and disgust overpowered him; he began to choke, but there was nothing to throw up, and he slightly realized that the world around him had grown still and cloudy.

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He was in the middle of a storm on a loud sweeping sea with no land in sight. It was an utterly dark night and he could not see the wild waves he floated on, except frequently when the flash of a lightening illumined the furious water. He was painfully holding tight a piece of driftwood with both arms, for he knew he could not swim. The roar of the angry billows being peppered with thunderbolts filled all the air, but still he was sure having heard Pippin's voice calling for him a few times, but he could not see him. The fear of drowning was overwhelming and he gasped for breath deeply. Although he was in the middle of wet infinity he felt parched and as he see-sawed there in the middle of endless dismal prospects he began to feel really sick once more, and at the end of the tunnel of despair that had almost absorbed him there was the final strike, a sky-filling surge-giant that had arisen from one side was about to devour him completely.

As it finally hit him he swallowed the strange familiar foul stuff, but it was not salty as it should be and he could not breathe anymore. Frantically he coughed and tried to pant for air, struggling, and after instinctively retching he wheezed again and again. The surrounding noise was becoming louder, but soon he dimly realized it was not the rush of the sea but the roar of taunting laughter. He thought he could discern malicious yelling creatures all around sneering at him hatefully; as if they tried to drown him in a joyful session of blood and thunder; it chilled his blood to the marrow and he felt a swoon wash over him once more. But into this disorientation fell a close voice, and it lit up his twilight.

"Leave him alone!" The light voice cried.

"Why?" Answered another wicked one enquiring.

Merry opened his eyes to look what was happening; he did not quite understand his situation. There was an Uruk-hai in front of him and he held his breath for a moment.

"You want some? Huh?" It snarled.

Was he talking to him? Merry did not know and shuddered.

"Then keep your mouth shut!" The Uruk said gruffly and turned around.

Merry shut his eyes again and breathed a sigh of relief; and just when the grace of another wave was about to bear him away the familiar voice whispered once more.

"Merry?"

Blearily Merry looked to where the sound came of and there was Pippin. He was on the back of an Uruk just as he was himself. It seemed to be evening already, for he saw the sunset in the front, but it could have also been the next sunrise, he was not too sure.

"Hullo Pippin" He faintly whispered back and rested his weary head on the helm of the creature that carried him.

"You're hurt?" Pippin asked solicitously with a most worried voice and a knit brow. Even in his blurry state Merry conceived that he must have been unconscious all day, riding on the back of this Uruk with less than slender chance of escaping death at the end. And still his friend was worrying anxiously for his well-being and tried to protect him.

"I'm fine" He whispered quietly, trying to gulp the nausea. "It was just an act."

"An act?!" Pippin asked with almost indignant surprise and looked into his eyes. Pippin's innocence made Merry smile.

"See? I fooled _you_ too!" He said, still smiling. Pippin understood this finally and smiled back at him, but uneasy, as if he was simply relieved that Merry had enough wits gained to wisecrack.

"Don't worry about _me,_ Pip." Merry said hoarsely and thought sadly "Better to worry about your own self."

Only a few steps in front of them walked Uglúk, right after another Uruk, who had stopped to sniff intently.

"What is it, what do you smell?" Uglúk asked.

"Men-flesh!" The other Uruk bellowed in a hostile way, snuffling angrily.

"They picked up our trail!" Uglúk said frowning knowingly, and then, waving to the horde, shouted "Get moved!"

And the Orc-band started another terrific spurt, jolting the bound hobbits at their backs and once more Merry's mind took refuge in the sanctuary of ebony.

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When he was thrown onto the ground he awoke slowly and looked around. It was dark already and Orcs and Uruks were all around them, and they seemed to be in deep conflict with each other. One of them was bent over him and clutched at his legs violently and tied cords around them firmly so that Merry could not help but groan under the pain it caused, for the bonds cut into the old wounds. Afterwards the goblin went to Pippin who was just next to him and tied his legs as well.

Then the turmoil around them began to increase and since the Uruks were obviously making big noise and payed no heed to the hobbits, they were able to whisper to each other for a while.

Merry admitted to his friend with a tremor in his voice that he was feeling way too weak to be able to try to escape not to mention crawling, and that he hardly could pay any attention anymore at all. Pippin, in obvious compassion, tried to lighten up his cousin and reminded him of the elven waybread he had with him.

_ "Lembas: I've got some. Have you?" _

Merry nodded and told him that he had some in his pocket, then he added with rising despair. _ "Anyway, I can't put my mouth in my pocket!" _

_ "You won't have to, I've------" _Pippin began but a hard kick reminded him that the noise was diminished and that their guards were watchful. Merry wondered what his cousin wanted to say, but since he saw no lembas in Pippins bound hands he could not guess any further.

Obviously there was no going onward for a while, for the Orcs lit several fires all around the camp. Merry was glad he could rest for a while without being joggled around. The pain in his head seemed to finally diminish but the gone feeling had increased. He felt no more hunger though he knew he needed something to eat; he was so wretched as he had never been before.

The obvious disconcertment of the surrounding Orcs distracted his thoughts and he tried to muster all his regard to listen to what was said.  
He caught a few words through the chaos but they made no sense to him; he thought he heard 'Whiteskins' and that they would wait for the Sun and a few curses, but could not make a rhyme nor reason out of it with the few information he had. A few times he was sure having heard horse-neighing.

Then a scream from the other side of the camp made the whole troop turn to its direction. Something had happened and in the confusion of the murkiness the Orcs seemed to be on the verge of panicking, some ran away and Uglúk ran after them, the Uruk-guards with him.

The hobbits sat up and looked about. No one was looking at them; they all seemed to have gone away. Merry's last remnant of hope twinkled like a faint but by all means vivid spark in the ashes of a burned out fire as he thought of escape but it was soon extinguished heinously as brawny hands clutched at his and Pippins neck, dragging the hobbits close together. It was Grishnákh.

Then Merry felt the obscene hand feeling at him and he saw it doing to Pippin as well. What was happening?

He could feel hot breath on his cheek and Merry involuntary began to tremble all-over, he almost dared not to breathe. He felt so helpless in this plight, even more than just being a bound captive with no strength left in his body; now for all what was more he was lying in utter darkness together with his little cousin like easy prey, both being pawed by the invidious clutches of an Orc bending over them.

As Grishnákh continued his grabbing Merry shuddered to think of what would happen to them finally, but he had no energy for resistance, for he knew it would be to no avail anyway. But just when he thought the pounder of his heart could become no louder, there suddenly Pippin spoke out to address the creature.

_ "I don't think you will find it that way. It isn't easy to find" _He whispered.

'What in the name of Arda is he doing' thought Merry anxiously.

Grishnákh must have been equally surprised, though in a more angry way.  
He snatched at Pippins shoulder immediately and spat at him, asking what he meant.

Pippin seemed scared, yet he grimaced almost as if to smirk, then he made a noise that seemed to come out of his throat. "_gollum, gollum_!"

_ "Nothing, my precious" _he finally answered.

At this Grishnakh gasped and hissed in surprise.

_ "Oh ho! That's what he meant, isn't it? Very dangerous, my little ones, very dangerous!" _

Merry finally understood why the Orc was touching them - he was looking for The Ring! He obviously believed one of them had it with them! He realized with fear what Pippin was trying to do, though he never would have dared to try himself, he knew his cousin was right; they had to try everthing to escape, even futile innings like this should not be wasted.

_ "Perhabs" He said. "Perhabs; and not only for us. Do you want it, or not? And what would you give for it?" _

Grishnákh repeated a few times the latter two questions baffled, more asking himself as it seemed and the hobbits thought they could feel his fingers on their backs shake.

"What do you mean?" He finally asked them.

Pippin ventured a step forward in his audacity and tried to assure that instead of groping for what the Orc saught they could be helpful theirselves, if only he untied their legs.

Grishnákh began to growl in anger and with a menacing tongue-in-cheek he threatened them - Merry's body was filled with dread and he found it hard to focus on the whole viperish talk but he was aware the Orc told them that at the end of their journey they would tell everything they knew and that they would want to have more to tell to their Questioner, that this was the reason they had been kept alive for; not out of a feeling of goodness.

That would be the worst disaster of all, even worse than to perish in tantalization and solitude, both hobbits knew that - the realization of this worst case image, that they would tell of the quest, the council of Elrond in Rivendell and Frodo trying to reach Mount Doom to end the power of The Ring together with that of its maker Sauron would condemn Middle Earth to decay. This had to be hindered!

Merry forthwith declared that he could believe it easily, trying all he could to conceal his angst and steady his voice. Then he reminded him that they were not at the end of their journey yet, and that he would not be the one that had any advantage of this loot and in the heat of the moment hazarded something more and added:

_ "If we come to Isengard, it won't be the great Grishnákh that benefits: Saruman will take all that he can find. If you want anything for yourself, now's the time to do the deal." _

By the enraged reaction the Orc made Merry instantly regretted his last comment. Grishnákh's right eye twitched and he barked with a frown and asked them angry if they got it.  
Pippin made another _gollum_-sound in his throat and when Merry plead again in distress for his legs to be untied, the Orc lost his temper completely and bent close over Merry's face.

_ "Curse you, you filthy little vermin! Untie your legs? I'll untie every string in your bodies. Do you think I can't search you to the bones? Search you! I'll cut you both to quivering shreds. I don't need the help of your legs to get you away – and have you all to myself" _

Each hobbit was clutched and cleaved under the arms of the Orc, and his hands over their mouths smothered their screechs in panic. What happened was terrifying to the marrow for both, none of them really understood the whole course of action, for all they knew was that their end finally had come. The passed days of horror that they had endured were senseless at the end and they soon were frozen stiff from the chill that went through their bloods; they stopped shrieking soon but just took shallow gasps.

In the blackness, being joggled around, the hobbits could barely see what the Orc's way was, but they soon could hear the rush of water and a dark wall, which appeared to be a dense forest, loomed just in the direction their captor was heading. In the open space he finally came to a halt, and with him the hearts of the hobbits for a moment.  
He seemed to listen if there was someone that had followed him, then, sneaked slowly forward for a few paces but he obviously was satisfied soon and stood up again. But just then a menacing rider appeared right in front of him and shouted.

Grishnákh threw himself onto the ground and pulled the trembling hobbits under him; limp as he was from agony Merry could not withstand but to just close his eyes to let happen what he could not change. The last thing he saw before he closed his eyes in defeat was his captor who drew his sword.

'That is it now, is it? That is how I am going to die! And what have I been good for? I wish I could have been a better help for Frodo and the quest!' He thought.

But the deathblow never came. Merry heard a familiar whistling and then a shriek, blended with horses neighing and hoove-noises growing louder and swifter. When he dared a peep at last he saw Grishnákh being pierced by a spear and he gave a final cry, then he fell and never got up again.

Right after the sound of another horse approached and it jumped over them, riding along. The rider must have overseen them, for he did not halt nor show any kind of reaction.  
Both hobbits stayed right where Grishnákh had left them, they were too shocked and shaken to be responsive of their surroundings.

Soon Merry realized the need for action. But just when the hobbits wondered how they would avoid such a death as Grishnákh's in the confusion of the onslaught, they heard angry shouts and yells from where the Orc-camp was, and the sound of shouting men mingled with that of horse-hooves galloping. The riders were most likely overcoming the Orcs and Uruks.

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Though if chance had not been on their side the two hobbits would have been killed right were they laid; but now fortune had turned its loving face towards them and they realized that they had been taken away far enough to be out of sight for any of their captors, be they distracted or not.  
Eventually Merry sighed and expressed his wishes for his limbs being free of the bonds.

_ "But I can't touch the knots, and I can't bite them." He said._

"_No need to try," said Pippin. "I was going to tell you: I've managed to free my hands. These loops are only for show. You'd better have a bit of lembas first." _

Merry's eyes widened as Pippin slipped the cords off his wrists and got his packet of lembas out of his jacket. He had not eaten for two days now and was terribly famished; the feeling of starving had gnawed on him ever since but in the recent events it had slipped his mind and now was returning irrevocably.

There at the edge of a battle between men and Orcs the two hobbits sat in the dark and ate their elven cakes. Merry thought of the days in Lothlorien and the fairness of their hosts, the Lady Galadriel and the rich food they had had in the elven Wood. Never had they dared to think into what peril their paths would lead them, though they had known it would not be a save road to be treaded.  
The sweet flavour of the cakes raised their spirits and put vitality into them and Merry trailed away into oblivion for the presence but Pippin roused him soon out of his day-dream, reminding him to be off the sooner the better, then he crawled to the body of Grishnákh and got a long knife from him with which he cut their bonds.

Finally they made their way; first they crawled, for their ankles and legs had been corded quite tightly and had left in them a sore aching-feeling.They crept on the sward towards the sound of flowing water which they guessed must be a swift river until they reached the banks of it. The cover of the night was about to lose its virtue and Pippin thought it best to get under better cover. He tried to get onto his feet and, when he discovered that they finally could cope with his weight he encouraged his older cousin to try it too; fortunately Merry could get up as well, and he was glad that they had had lembas before, for he was too sure that it had given him back the part of the strength that he had lacked so much in the last few days. Indeed he felt so much animated, even the sickness had left his belly.

And so they walked along the riverbank and conversed with each other about the last days as only hobbits could do; for even as they knew that only serendipity had spared their lives, they took heed of the present only, pushing the ferocity and terror of their capture and the concentrated hate in the eyes of their captors away from their memories.

For the most part Pippin spoke and Merry realized how much had passed by him in his poor health. Pippin told him about the quarrel between the Uruk-hai and the Orcs, that even a few got killed, and that the riders that had attacked them and that the goblins called 'Whiteskins' were in pursuit of them for quite some time. Pippin finally told him that his despair had mocked him with visions of Strider coming for their rescue, and that, in the shelter of the haze, he had even dropped his elven brooch as token of survival in honour of this deed; which was too unlikely to be real.

"Now that we are safe at least of being killed by those Orcs," Pippin added "I hope the more it was just a mere vision and Strider still keeps an eye or two on good old Frodo and Sam."

Merry felt even more proud of his cousin then before when he heard how he had risked his life by freeing his wrist-cords with the knife of a fallen Orc while the Orcs and Uruks were fighting each other. And even more than before he felt the need of being useful on his own, and he knew he could be finally, at least a little bit. He had eagerly studied the maps in Rivendell to learn their paths into Mordor and knew where they were, now that he saw the forest in front and the river coming out of it and also he knew the Orc's way had lead towards Isengard. It was Fangorn forest, as he noted, and even when he knew himself that they had been warned against Fangorn without Pippin stating it, he realized there were only two options left to them: Going into Fangorn or going back to the battle behind them.

So they went into the dark woods.  
_ Out of the shadows the hobbits peeped, gazing back down the slope: little furtive figures that in the dim light looked like elf-children in the deeps of time peering out of the Wild Wood in wonder of their first dawn. _  
The battle between the men and the Orcs were still in progress and while they watched they saw that some of the Uruks seemed to escape into the woods as well. Neither turning nor halting once more the both of them ran deeper into the forest.

After a long while they stopped running and just went along the river in oppressive silence. Bereavement tore at their spirits. Even if they did not want to speak about it yet, for the grief was still too near, Boromir dwelled in their minds and it filled their beings with sadness. He had given his life to defend them. He most likely still lay there, in the midst of the carnage of slain foes. Never would they forget the honour of his sacrifice. They hoped with all their feelings that at least the rest of the fellowship had escaped. They wondered if they ever would see their friends again, in life or death. But the uncertainty could not be helped.

Next to the awe they felt for Boromir's last battle, the anxiety of the fate of their friends, the third dominating feeling was thankfulness. Deeply were they thankful to the bliss that had helped them to survive this day, and on top of it all they survived it together. At least there was one thing in them that cheered them up.

"Pippin," Merry said, turning his face to his cousin. "I love you."

Pippin looked at him and smiled. "I know, Merry. I love you too."


End file.
